Freakastuck
by LobstarMonstar
Summary: You wouldn't BELIEVE how hard it is to get a bunch of villains to work together. At least this motley crew is saving sCHIP a lot of trouble by trying to kill each other. But suuuure, they can reach an agreement. Just this once. Maybe. Still, watch your back, Freak. You and your mysterious little geeky friend.


"Freakazoid, you're really starting to piss me off! Freak out!"

_Zzzzap._

"Nnnnnoooo-ho-ho-ho. I don't wanna! Freak in!"

_Tsss…_

"Just get in there and do it already! Freak out!

_Zzap._

"Why don't you? Freak in."

_Tsss._

"You're the superhero! Freak out."

Zap.

"Well you're the smart one. Freak in."

Ts.

"Freak out!"

"Freak in."

"Freak OUT!"

"Freak in."

"JES' QUIT IT, THE BOTH OF YE!"

Dexter froze guiltily, lips already forming the f sound.

"I dun care which one o' ye does it, jes' get over there an' wake 'im up!"

"You, uh. You heard him, Freak. Go ahead."

Miles above their heads, on the gilded moon of Prospit, Dexter's dreamself whined. "You owe me for this, Four-Eyes!"

Slowly, y, Freakazoid floated himself through the window, contorting himself specifically to touch _nothing don't make any noise for the love of god._ His head crossed the threshold, then his shoulders, hips, feeeeeeet… he was in the tower.

'_Ladies and gentlemen I am IN THE TOWER_.'

'_Quit messing around and do it already,_' Dexter answered directly into Freak's mind, then added out loud to MacStew, "He's in the tower."

"Tell 'im tae quit messin around an' do it already!"

"Yes, sir."

Across the dream tower, practically a thousand miles away, The Lobe dozed. Freak had to wake him up.

Directly to the left of the window, Fan Boy hibernated on the floor. Freak had to _not_ wake him up.

Sneaking, Freakazoid decided, was much easier when you didn't have to touch the floor. With one eye on Fan Boy (that must've looked funny), he approached the pink, pulsating mass that was The Lobe. Using a single gloved finger, he prodded the brain in front of him.

The evil genius's frontal lobe quivered, but he didn't wake up.

Freakazoid prodded again, more insistently this time, earning him several light squishing sounds.

Behind him, Fan Boy rolled over in his sleep. Freakazoid's stomach dropped.

Prod.

Prod.

Prod prod poke poke poke POKE POKE POKE WAKE UP POKE

SHOVE

With a sound like someone stepping into jello wearing galoshes—

(why would jello be wearing galoshes?)

—Freakazoid's fist sunk into The Lobe's gray matter.

Back on MacStaw's planet, Dexter's mind was flodded with a sudden stream of '_oh god, oh god oh god OH GOD, EW EW EW NO GOD EW WHY, WHY-HY-HY-HY-HY?_'

'_What happened? What's wrong?!_' Dexter tried to respond, but he was drowned out my Freakazoid's internal gagging.

'_OH GOD IT'S LIKE FISTING A TANGELA, EW IT'S WARM AND PULSATING AND SLIMY_.'

After a brief tug-o-war and a wet _pop_, Freak got his hand back. A strand of brain-goop connected his fingers to The Lobe, stretched, snapped, hung limply from the hand that Freakazoid was gonna wash _like fifty times with bleach and acid and maybe that orange pumice stuff._ But for now, he could only wipe it on his Prospit-yellow spandex long-johns, and it smeared like an uncooked egg and wouldn't come out of the webbing between his fingers and thank god it didn't smell because he wasn't sure his constitution could handle that right now.

He was about to turn tail and throw in the towel (he could really use a towel) but at that moment The Lobe sat up with a groan, gingerly fingering the dripping mass of loose synapses above his left temple. "Oh… What happened?" he drawled, sleep and Poshness mangling his words into something nearly intelligible.

That's when his eyes landed on Freakazoid.

"Freakazoid ?What are y—?" But a gloved hand slapped itself over his mouth. Ignoring the evil scientist's indignant glare, Freak gestured with his head to the thankfully still-asleep freeloading elephant in the room.

The Lobe understood. Using only his eyes, he communicated a stern 'what-the-Dickens-is-he-doing-here,' and was answered with a pronounced shrug. Deeming it safe to do so, Freakazoid removed his hand from The Lobe's mouth and gestured to the window.

It took some finagling, but they managed to shoehorn The Lobe's head outside like a giant version of one of those L-shaped Tetris pieces. The two of them didn't dare talk until they were well, _well_ away from the tower, floating high above spires that would possibly definitely impale something dropped from this height. Freakazoid resisted the urge to spit.

The first words thereafter spoken were, "Prospit?! Oh, poo!" The Lobe regarded his gilded dressing gown with unveiled disgust. "I wanted to be on Derse with the other villains!"

"Lobe, quit your whining," Freak said as gently as he could manage, "I hear they have to wear purple up there!"

"I love purple!"

"Oh. Well." Freakazoid was at a loss. "Better luck next time?"

"Yes, well—!" The Lobe busied himself adjusting is dressing gown, fussing with the little silk belt indignantly. "You couldn't have picked a worse time to wake me. I was just about to fix the damage caused by that imbecile Jack. It's so hard to find good help, honestly!"

"Yeah, you're welcome."

"What did you _do_ to me anyway? I feel like I've been broadsided by Longhorn's superfluous compensatory semi-truck."

Freak hid his still-slightly-gooey hand behind his back. "Uh. I poked you a few times."

"Drat, I must've slept wrong. No matter!" He rounded on the superhero. "What do you want, anyway?"

"What do I—?" Freakazoid, again, drew a blank. "I want… oh yeah! I was gonna ask you… something. I need to ask you something."

"Well, what is it?"

"It's, um."

They shared an awkward pause.

"You forgot."

"Give me a minute!" Freakazoid turned his back to his nemesis, furrowing his brow in concentration. '_Hey, Dexter. What was I supposed to ask him again?_'

_'You _forgot_?!'_

_'I was concentrating on a high-stakes infiltration mission!'_

Dexter suffered a sigh that was completely unnecessary because _it's in your head, genius_. '_We need to know who all's playing.'_

'_We know who's playing though!'_

_'No, we know _half_ of who's playing. We need to know who's on Derse, who's doing what, what our team looks like…'_

'_Yeah, yeah! I'll figure it out.'_ Freak turned back to the Lobe, who couldn't exactly tap his foot midair, so instead settled for flapping his shoe petulantly.

"Well?"

"I need to know everyone who's playing and what they're up to so we can figure out a plan."

"What? Why should I tell you that?"

"Um… so we don't nearly get killed by meteors again?

"Poo! You're trying to steal the show again. I want to have a story arc for once!"

Freak began to work himself into a fit, but botched it in the early stages and instead sunk slightly lower in the air, deflated. "Lobe, this isn't about the show."

"Like hell it's not!"

"Lobe. All the crew members are dead."

Whatever The Lobe planned to say next died somewhere in his throat. Instead of a witty retort, all that came out was a shaky repetition. "Dead…?"

"Yeah, mostly. We've still got a couple; I think Roddy resurrected that ugly grin-guy. But not enough for the show." He shook his head.

The Lobe had the decency to look solemn. "I… didn't know." He contemplated for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. "You can still get to the chat client, yes?"

"Well, yeah, I'm in it right now." Freak bonked the side of his head with the heel of his hand, producing a sound like shaking a can of quarters.

"Good. I'll upload a list there and keep it updated as well as I can. I'd ask the others to make their own reports, but…" He gave a half-cringe, half-shrug. "I'm not used to working with such incompetence."

"Don't sweat it, big guy. You're doing the best you can."

"Your kind words are appreciated. Now!" Freakazoid snapped to attention at his sudden shift in demeanor. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go un-charter a bus."

"I… what?"

"Don't ask."

"Oh. Okay. Later, Lobe."

"Ta!"

The Lobe flew off to find a way back to who-knows-where, and Freakazoid was left alone with his thoughts. '_Mission accomplished, Dex!'_

No answer.

_'Uh… Dex?'_

_'IS THE LOBE GONE?'_

Freakazoid somehow stumbled midair. _'Yeah, he is. Dexter, what's wrong?'_

_'THERE'S A LOVECRAFTIAN MONSTER IN A HAWAIIAN SHIRT ASKING ABOUT YOU.'_

_'…Nutbunnies. I should've known they'd be playing too.'_

_'I JUST SNUCK AWAY, BUT COULD YOU PLEASE PLEASEPLEASE TAKE OVER FOR A WHILE?'_

_'Sure thing, buddy. Just say the word.'_

With a bolt of lighting, Dexter found himself on the moon of Prospit, and Freak was off doing something dangerous again, because he had to do everything his golly-darn self, what a pain.

He didn't really mind, though.


End file.
